


Just Sleep

by JamesAeza



Series: I can’t stop writing Intrulogical, send help [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caring, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, M/M, Nightmares, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24939628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesAeza/pseuds/JamesAeza
Summary: Logan has nightmares and subsequent intrusive thoughts.Author is a sucker for Intrulogical. Leave him alone.Read the tags if you're easily triggered.
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: I can’t stop writing Intrulogical, send help [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837507
Comments: 9
Kudos: 257





	Just Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write more Intrulogical?  
> Maybe I did.  
> Is this a vent fic?  
> Maybe it is.  
> I'm sorry Logan.  
> I hope you enjoy.

For the third time that week, Logan found himself ruthlessly jerked into consciousness. As his glance flickered over the room, he instinctively knew he was in the calm before the storm, the calm before the memories of whatever dream had woken him came flooding back. 

Sometimes it was a snapshot or two, a general feeling or idea, and other times there was a concrete concept. He knew there was nothing he could do about it either way, so he just waited, helpless, until they rammed into him like a punch to the gut. 

_ in a cage, everyone laughing at you _

_ you’re the joke _

_ you'll always be a joke  _

_ always be a joke _

_ be a joke _

_ a joke _

_ joke _

He forced himself to his feet, trying his best to block out the one intrusive thought that he couldn’t handle. He didn’t put his glasses on, not ready to face the clarity and sharp edges of the world assaulting his eyes, which were still delicate with sleep. 

He forced his hands through his messy hair, trying to drive the repetitive thoughts out. As much as he may have claimed that repression didn’t work, he found it difficult to practice what he preached when faced with the situation. 

Pacing back and forth in his room, he absentmindedly snapped the rubber band on his wrist, over and over until the skin was red and raw. Anything to keep his mind away from the darker corners of itself. To keep from diving into the things that he knew were truths, but couldn’t face quite yet. 

When snapping turned to scratching, and that drew blood, though, Logan knew it was time to stop. He tried to force himself to, though his hands kept doing what they wanted. 

It was then, though, that he felt his stomach turn itself upside down, and he dropped to the floor, coughing and heaving and praying that he wouldn’t throw up. He hated doing this. Hated feeling helpless, knowing it was out of his hands. 

The heaving eventually receded, though the nausea did not. He forced himself to his feet, shaking, ignoring the desire to just collapse. 

He stumbled to the door, knowing he had to do something, though he wasn’t sure what. He let his feet lead the way, and ended up in the kitchen. Fumbling around half blind, he somehow got a glass of water. After a moment’s thought, he poured it over his head. 

That wasn’t a very Logan-like thing to do. He’d hoped, however frivolous the hope, that it would take his mind off the thoughts, if only for a moment. 

Clearly, he was not thinking properly. How could he either snap himself back into reality, or stop thinking altogether? One thought pushed through, but he managed to force it out. That wasn’t an option. 

Then the less than logical side of him had an idea. There was someone else around who might be able to understand. Who had probably gone through this himself.

Oh, what was he thinking? Remus would surely not want to comfort a useless idiot who couldn’t even take care of himself. 

But- he couldn’t go back to his room. Not now. He slightly, hesitantly, allowed his feet to lead him to Remus’s room. He’d just knock once, he told himself. To see if he’s awake. 

Once he found himself facing the big green door, he thought about just collapsing right then and there. But it wouldn’t do to have Remus wake up to him passed out outside his door. After a few moments trying to pluck up the courage, he slowly lifted his hand. As it touched the wood, the door swung open. And there was Remus, who began speaking in his usual loud voice, which made Logan cringe. 

“Oh thank God you finally made it up here Virge, I could hear you thinking all the way from-”

His eyes narrowed as they fell onto Logan, who shied away, wishing he’d decided against coming here. He took in that he was pale and shaking, with bags under his eyes, and for some reason his hair and shirt were wet. “You’re not Virgil.”

“I- no, I am not. I- I apologize for disturbing you.” Despite his distress, he was able to string together enough words to sound at least semi-normal. “I’ll be taking my leave now and-”

He yelped as he was lifted up by the hips and deposited on a… doctor’s table? Why did Remus have this in his room? And why was he on it?

Remus noticed his befuddled expression. “Look, either Virge or I go through this every other night. I know how it goes,” he informed him, handing him two big white pills. “Take those. They’ll help,” Remus briskly informed him, thrusting a glass of water into his hands. 

Logan, while half convinced that the pills would do something awful to him, wanted more than anything to be trusting right now. And he didn’t especially care what happened to him anymore. So he swallowed them. Remus took the cup back.

“Alright, now where’d you hurt yourself?”

“Pardon?”

“Come on. Like I said, I know how it goes. No one doesn’t hurt themselves when this happens to them. It goes for all your insecurities. Now let’s see the damage.”

Logan, shocked, offered his wrists, one still swollen and red, the other leaking blood from messy scratches. 

Remus inspected them. “Not too bad. Then again, one would expect Logic to be the one with the most self-control.”

Logan nodded idly as Remus cleaned them and slathered on antibiotic ointment. 

“There. That should be good. Do you want to talk about what the nightmare was now, or tomorrow?”

Logan was not pleased that the question did not seem to leave room for opting out, but he supposed he owed it to Remus. Shockingly enough, since taking the pills, he felt both less distressed and more exhausted. He could have passed out right here, and he must have been nodding off because Remus scooped him up again. He yelped, pulled out of his drug-induced stupor.

Remus, much to his continued surprise, gently bounced him in his arms the way one would a child, humming something under his breath. 

Logan allowed himself to be pacified. Shortly after, he was set in a bed, and there were blankets pulled over him. He felt someone rubbing his back. “Just sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and as always, comments make me v happy. Constructive criticism is welcome and roast me if you see bad grammar. No excuses.


End file.
